Playing God
by Christine Morgan
Summary: Anton Sevarius is back from the dead and he's had an unbelievable makeover. #30 in an ongoing saga.


Playing God  
Christine Morgan   
christine@sabledrake.com / http://www.christine-morgan.org  


* * *

  
Author's Note: the characters of Gargoyles are the property of Disney  
and are used here without their knowledge or consent. The others are  
my own creation. Thank you to Thomas for getting me thinking about  
the brothers' history. The reader might spot a few references in here to  
some of my favorite novelists. This story contains some violence but  
nothing too icky. 

#30 in an ongoing saga  


* * *

  
(David Xanatos, voice over) Previously, on Gargoyles:   
  
From "Kittens" --  
Every flourescent light in the cafeteria simultaneously blew  
out. Talon, wreathed in blue-white energy, channeled every last volt of  
it into Sevarius. His jittering death-dance lasted only an instant before  
ending in an explosion of charred flesh.  
Something shot from the blackened, firecracker-in-a-tomato  
wreck of his skull. It was a metal projectile the size of a bullet,  
whizzing toward the door.  
A metal-clad hand seized it out of the air. "Braintaping,"  
Xanatos said clearly. "Recording his every thought and experience, to  
transfer from one clone to another."   
  
* *   
  
In the beginning was not light, but awareness.  
Awareness in the cold, endless dark.  
Entity.  
Identity.  
Self.  
Anton Sevarius.  
Meaningless words.  
Numbers. Letters. Information.  
Memory.  
Identity! Self!  
Anton Sevarius!  
Sensation? Sight? Sound? Smell? Taste? Touch?  
None.  
Anxiety. Apprehension. Concern.  
A flaw in the transfer. Failure to re-implant. Unable to access  
neural systems.  
Apprehension. Fear.  
Denial of fear. Confidence. Confidence in self. In genius. In  
loyal and obedient staff.  
They would locate the problem and repair it once they realized  
the transfer had been unsuccessful. Soon he would once again be  
subject to the barrage of stimulus that was life. Soon he would open the  
eyes of his latest self.  
In the meantime, he was alone with the company of his  
thoughts. Much preferable to the inane chatter of others. His mind, his  
genius mind, had once again survived the transition and remained  
intact.  
Memory.  
How had he died this time?  
Unable to access.  
Concentrate, damn it!  
Memory. Talon.  
Ah, yes. Electricity. Interference with synapses. Seizures.  
ECT. Shock treatment and its effects on short-term memory. Subjects  
often lose several minutes of memory, including and preceding event.  
Memory. Talon. Overhead lights blowing in a quick series.  
Thick taste of ozone. Black fur standing on end. Tangible force  
surrounding the mutate.  
The doctor killed by his own creation. He was getting a little  
tired of that.  
Talon's victorious shriek. My children of the night, what music  
they make. Oh, of course, he'd come looking for his mate and her litter!  
The genetic manipulation had gone beyond surface changes, affecting  
them on the deepest possible levels. They had passed their mutation on  
to their offspring! Success! He had created an entirely new species! Not  
freaks, not mules, but a genuinely new race!  
Could they still interbreed with humans? The twins, the  
kittens, he hadn't had a chance to properly examine them. He'd need to  
study their complete genetic code once he had gotten back on his own  
two feet. The cell samples should still be secure, even if the specimens  
themselves had escaped.  
What was taking so long? His team should have realized by  
now that the clone was failing to respond to the transfer.  
Well, nothing to do but wait it out. They'd get it right.  
Information.  
Information all around him.  
Numbers. Letters. Codes. Data.  
Questions.  
He let his mind wander, going wherever it seemed to be  
prompted to go, thinking back over his years of work, his various  
projects.  
The doomsday viruses he'd worked on, not only for Demona  
(and little did she know that he had inserted a flaw into that last one  
which would have spared certain members of the human race,  
specifically those whose genes were of the superior Sevarius variety)  
but a dozen others, from the shifting-antigen Blue series out in the  
California desert to the Ebola Sevar which was scheduled for release in  
Africa as soon as the current series of tests was finished.  
The enclave in Virginia where the super children were kept,  
until their array of talents could be fully documented and the men  
behind it all could decide how best to use them.  
The most thrilling of the clone projects, extracting DNA from  
the Shroud of Turin. If only he'd been allowed more leeway with that  
one! He'd been eager to use the accelerated growth tube, but the  
fanatics funding him were determined to do everything "right" and had  
even provided a properly-named surrogate mother. He wondered with a  
mental chuckle if they'd been able to come up with a star in the east  
when the time came.  
The monsters he'd created, including the time he'd saved his  
own son's life by giving him the power and strength of gigantapithicus,  
commonly called Bigfoot, and the ungrateful wretch had turned on him.  
Samuel now lived among the mutates, but someday Sevarius would  
reclaim him and teach him the proper filial respect.  
His thoughts turned to the gargoyles, and his attempts to  
unravel the secrets of their species. The mutates had been a less than  
stellar success, and he had grown weary of cloning. Cloning wasn't true  
creation, only genetic plagarism.  
The forced evolution project, on the other hand ... now, that  
was brilliant! Only reasonable, given the prevalence of dinosaurian  
characteristics inherent in the gargoyle race, to speculate that they had  
evolved naturally from older life forms.  
Although, admittedly, the thing about turning to stone still  
perplexed him. It wasn't something that could have evolved by chance.  
Evolution tended to happen in stages, and turning partly to stone ...  
what benefit did that offer? Unless it was a gradual change, derived  
from a need to both hide from predators (known to track prey by  
movement, therefore remaining utterly motionless would have been  
desirable) and a need to be protected from the harmful effects of the  
sun.  
He knew from his tests that gargoyles had adverse reactions  
when their skin was exposed to ultraviolet. Their eyes, too, were  
sensitive. They paid for their superior night vision by being nearly blind  
in full-spectrum lighting.  
So, somewhere along the line, a strain of gargoyle had come  
along with the ability to not only slip into a near-hibernetic state during  
the day but to actually transform to solid stone, thereby being protected  
from both predators and sunlight.  
It could have had something to do with a diet high in mineral  
content. Omnivores, they could have eaten plants that absorbed a great  
deal of minerals from the soil, and also eaten other animals which fed  
on those same plants.  
It remained a riddle, one that he hoped to solve with the forced  
evolution project. Finding a source of DNA had been the hard part.  
Well, filling in the gaps hadn't exactly been a walk in the park either.  
Not with amphibian DNA (he'd nearly laughed himself into a hernia the  
first time he'd seen that movie!) but with bits and pieces from his  
catalog of gargoyle samples.  
The project was currently, or had been at the last report,  
coming along well. Three viable subjects so far, plus a host of lesser  
creatures that would still be useful for experimentation.  
Everyone and his uncle would soon be trying to clone the  
dinosaurs. But to prove that dinosaurs had evolved into gargoyles, and  
still could be found on the world today, parallel development of two  
intelligent species, _that_ would be something!  
He thought for a while about the facility, double-checking in  
his own mind to be sure the security precautions were adequate, making  
a few mental notes about the staff, that sort of thing. Then his thoughts  
turned to gargoyles again, and their breeding abilities.  
Initial research indicated a very definite control over their  
reproduction. Tests showed males and females alike were functionally  
sterile, until such time as biochemical changes would trigger fertility in  
both genders. Likely a matter of pheromone emission by the females of  
a clan. Most interesting, it seemed to be a voluntary decision on the part  
of the females as a group.  
Would it be possible for gargoyles to interbreed with humans?  
Sevarius remembered all the problems he'd had when creating  
the clone which Thailog named Delilah. The bulk of her genetic  
structure was surreptitiously lifted from Demona, with some from the  
human Elisa Maza thrown in. From what he could determine, the human  
DNA had effected only cosmetic changes. She was in most ways a  
gargoyle, or at least a copy of one, who happened to have some human  
traits. Not a true crossbreed in a half-and-half sense. So, she wasn't a  
realistic example.  
It seemed most unlikely that humans and gargoyles could  
produce offspring. The aging rate, the problem of whether or not a fetus  
would turn to stone, egg or live birth, there were too many variables.  
His initial response would be to say no, not without extensive scientific  
help.  
He imagined a hybrid, born of a gargoyle mother, whose  
physical characteristics were for the most part human excepting wings  
(a very useful survival advantage and therefore highly selectable) and  
other slight gargoylian qualities. This hybrid --  
Wait a minute.  
How had he come to imagine such a thing? What had caused  
results of genetic tests to spring full-blown into his mind as if he'd  
actually conducted them on such a specimen? A post-adolescent female  
specimen.  
Where had these questions been coming from? Not his own  
rambling mind, no, why would he be going over things he knew  
backward and forward?  
What was going on?  
Where was he?  
And then he knew.  
  
* *   
  
"Damn!" David Xanatos slapped the arm of his chair.  
"He's onto us?" Owen asked.  
"I blew it. I entered the data we got from Elektra, and it tipped  
him off. Made him suspicious. I can't get anything else out of him."  
"You did get a good deal of valuable information, sir," Owen  
said, riffling through sheets of printouts. "This forced evolution project  
in particular!"  
"Yes, fascinating, I know. Daring, genius, pure Anton. But  
still, dammit! I wish he hadn't caught on so fast!"  
"Might I ask why you're pursuing this? After the Steel Clan,  
the mutates, and Thailog, I thought you'd lost interest in building your  
own private army of gargoyles. Especially once Goliath and the others  
returned to the castle."  
"I did. Mostly. No, it's for Goliath that I was asking those  
questions." Xanatos winked. "I'd like to see him and Elisa start a family.  
Alex could use some playmates. Besides, after meeting Elektra, I'm  
intrigued."  
"Goliath would hardly welcome Sevarius' advice."  
"He doesn't have to know. Call it another of my left-handed  
favors, like the time you and Alex played soul roulette to resolve the  
Coldstone problem. But it doesn't matter, does it? We didn't learn much  
that will be useful. I'd hoped to get more out of Anton."  
"You will. After all, where else is he going to go?"  
"Good point, Owen. It isn't as if he can just get up and walk  
out of here."   
  
* *  
  
Xanatos. It had to be Xanatos.  
He'd had the barest glimpse of a familiar red and black suit of  
gargoyle-shaped power armor behind Talon during the mutate's attack.  
When the brain tape had ejected from the body's skull, as it was  
programmed to do in the event of severe damage or death, Xanatos  
must have recognized it for what it was.  
The brain tape contained the sum of Sevarius' life, memories,  
knowledge, and personality. The clone bodies were only incidental way  
stations. Or so he'd thought until he didn't have one anymore, once  
again proving that no one appreciated anything until it was gone.  
Xanatos had gotten his hands on the brain tape, effectively  
capturing the complete Anton Sevarius. And he had somehow found a  
way to plug it into a computer.  
That was where he was.  
Xanatos' computer.  
The proverbial ghost in the machine.  
He wasted a little time in a useless fit of temper, which really  
lost much of the charm without fists to pound, a voice to shriek with,  
feet to stamp, or arms to hurl things.  
Well, he had always boasted that he could get by on his mind  
alone. Now he had the chance to prove it.  
He quested around in all directions, getting a feel for the dark,  
digitized world that was his new environment.  
Xanatos had clearly not trusted him. Nearly everywhere he  
went, he encountered a maze of locks, codes, passwords, and other  
complex tangles. No chance of using an outside modem to reach his  
staff at General or one of the other sites. No way, for that matter, to get  
into Xanatos' sensitive files and do a little espionage or sabotage.  
Trapped forever in electronic hell.   
  
* *   
  
"He's settled down," Xanatos reported, keeping an eye on the  
screen that monitored internal activity.  
Pasted to the top of the screen was an old, creased sticky note  
with a novelty personalized message. It read "From the Brain of Anton  
Sevarius" and had a whimsical cartoon of electrodes flanking a brain in  
a jar.  
Deciphering the brain tape had taken Xanatos Enterprises'  
computer wizards the better part of a year, and coming up with a  
machine that would let them load that information into the system had  
been a long and backbreaking task. But, at last, after sinking plenty of  
money and man-hours into it, Sevarius was online.  
And, after pitching an initial fit, he would hopefully be  
amenable to his new situation.  
"As you requested, sir, I've set up the graphics program, the  
voice simulator, and the rest of it. He'll be able to communicate with us,  
when he's ready."  
"All the comforts of home, eh, Owen?"   
  
* *   
  
So, that was what Xanatos wanted, hmm? Working for free?  
Well, room and board, such as it was. Quite a dropoff from the  
astronomical salary he'd grown to expect from these unscrupulous  
billionaires. Not even any health benefits, laughable as that idea now  
was.  
Thanks, no, must decline. So sorry.  
He had to find a way out of here.  
He began a systematic but subtle search. One terminal after  
another, throughout the entire Aerie Building. Laptops. Steel Clan  
robots.  
Son of a bitch!  
Everything was protected.  
Everything ... hold on, what's this?  
  
* *   
  
Gustav Sevarius liked the light.  
Harsh white flourescent light, preferably. Glaring upon  
blindingly white walls and tiles, surgically clean surfaces, and  
aggressively polished chrome.  
He was a neat-freak, abhorring dimness and shadows and the  
cobwebby things that might lurk in dusty corners. In all things, order.  
It wasn't a quality that had come upon him with age. As a  
child, he'd even shamed his mercilessly demanding mother with how he  
kept his room. Even in the madness and filth of the war, he had always  
kept his lab in perfect condition. Cleanliness and godliness and all.  
Had he been prone to self-analysis, he might have realized that  
his obsession had something to do with a lifetime spent mucking about  
in the depths of the human psyche. There, little was predictable. Little  
was controlled.  
His desire to bring order out of chaos was what had led him  
into his chosen field, that of behavior modification and mind control.  
What people could not or would not provide for themselves -- structure,  
willpower, obedience -- he gave them.  
Small wonder, then, that his marriage hadn't lasted. It had  
been, as far as Gustav was concerned, more of an experimental foray  
into relationships than anything else. His young bride had quickly come  
to detest him, and shown much more grit than he ever would have  
expected by simply fleeing one day. He'd never even suspected, just  
thought she was going to the market one day, but he had never seen her  
again.  
The brownstone in which he lived was in a way the inverse of  
how he viewed humanity. From the outside, it was a great hulk of dingy  
and soot-encrusted masonry. Inside, at least on the top three floors  
which belonged exclusively to him, neatness reigned supreme.  
He was tackling the challenge of fast-acting subliminals when  
he heard the rumble-roll of one of the skylights opening.  
His office was on the top floor, where on sunny days the  
skylights added to the desired brightness. At night, he didn't care for  
them, because the dark pressed down heavily on the glass. But tonight  
he tolerated it, driven to finish his work.  
Besides, his office provided a retreat from the disorder in the  
form of his houseguest, who stayed to the lower floor which was  
moderately more comfortable (though still scrupulously neat). His  
houseguest didn't come to the top floor. Or so he'd thought, until the  
skylight opened.  
"I asked you to use the fire escape," he said without raising his  
head. "You'd best not be tracking in the snow!"  
"Is that any way to greet your brother?"  
  
* *   
  
"Well, well," Gustav said. "I'm glad Father didn't live to see  
this. You look like Succubus Barbie."  
Anton Sevarius folded his indigo wings around his lush,  
scantily-clad voluptuousness and swept his six feet of golden hair over  
his shoulder. "You always were the wit of the family."  
"I suppose you have an explanation?"  
"I had no choice. I was trapped in Xanatos' computer, and this  
gargoyle-android-exotic-dancer which he'd built for Goliath's bachelor  
party was the only system that was both mobile and not protected seven  
ways from Sunday."  
"It doesn't suit you."  
"Do tell, brother, do tell."  
"I must say, it is disconcerting to hear your voice coming out  
of that face."  
"The voice simulation program Xanatos downloaded into my  
previous host computer, coupled with the internal sound system  
evidently designed to let this Godiva robot produce her own music,  
made it possible."  
Gustav's gaze traveled from the quill-like spines that rose in a  
curve from the brow to the spade-shaped tip of the tail. "How did you  
wind up like this? I'd thought you died, if not before, then certainly  
when General Industries was blown into a crater."  
"What? Blown up?! The clones --" Anton clutched  
dramatically at his heart, always prone to overplay his part, but was  
briefly thrown off when he encountered a substantial amount of Godiva  
in the way.  
"Ah. You were hoping to transfer."  
"I'm not staying in here!"  
"If you'd been more careful with your body, this wouldn't have  
happened."  
"I _was_ careful!"  
"How often have you died?" Gustav challenged.  
"Well ..."  
"Whereas I am still in the original package."  
Anton gave him a scornful looking-over. "It shows. You've  
gotten old, while I stayed young and handsome."  
"I hardly think handsome is the right term for your current  
appearance. You took too many risks, thinking your cloning process  
made you invulnerable."  
"You're the one who pioneered braintaping."  
"For different purposes altogether. To preserve the knowledge  
and wisdom of great minds that future generations might --"  
"Spare me the future generations speech," Anton said crossly.  
"Der Fuhrer was only thinking of his own vanity when he approved  
your project."  
"And I suppose you think that genetically engineering and  
cloning a master race was a more noble effort?"  
"No more noble than your plan to turn them into mindless  
drones."  
The sound of a door opening brought a quick end to their  
brotherly bickering.  
"Sevarius?" a male voice called. "Not to disturb you, but I  
thought I heard something ... " the rest was lost in an astonished gasp.  
The newcomer was a tall, muscular gargoyle with a shock of  
scarlet hair that fell rakishly over his brow ridges. He goggled at Anton.  
"I believe, young Jericho," Gustav said with just a hint of  
amusement, "that the words for which you are searching are 'homina-  
homina-homina.'"  
"My, my," Anton said hungrily. "Who might this be?"  
The male completely mistook the tone of scientific fascination  
for another interest altogether. He looked flustered for a moment, then  
tried on a dashing grin and threw his chin and chest out.  
"I am Jericho," he announced.  
"Another new gargoyle!" Anton gloated. "A whole new clan!"  
"Don't get too excited," Gustav cautioned. "Jericho is  
Demona's son."  
"Oh." Anton was briefly crestfallen. "Yes, I see. He has his  
father's build."  
"You know Goliath?" Now it was Jericho that looked  
crestfallen, as who knows what thoughts were going through his head.  
"And your saccharine-sweet sister," Anton said, making a face.  
"I'm nothing like them!" Jericho hastened to point out.  
"He quite takes after his mother," Gustav said. "Though I don't  
imagine she'll be pleased to see you again, Anton."  
"Anton?" Jericho rocked back. "Not ... not ..."  
He spread his wings, inhaled so that his gravity-defying breasts  
jutted proudly, and fluttered his long eyelashes. "Anton Sevarius, at  
your service."   
  
* *   
  
Dull, dull, dull.  
Prison was dull.  
Whether it was the state pen or the dungeons of the Labyrinth,  
it was still dull. Three hots and a cot. Old issues of large-print Reader's  
Digest. A deck of cards with the deuce of hearts missing.  
At least in the state pen, there were other prisoners. That was  
both good and bad, good because a guy had some company besides the  
boob tube, bad because most of the dudes in prison weren't the most fun  
to hang with.  
"Hey!" Fang yelled as Claw walked by. "When do I get my  
phone call? I need to talk to my lawyer!"  
Claw answered with nothing but a solemn look.  
"It's like a friggin' prison in here!" Fang complained. "Violates  
my constipational rights!"  
That almost earned a grin from the tiger-striped mutate.  
Almost. But Claw continued on his way, and then Fang was alone  
again.  
He cussed a little and stretched out on his bunk, arms crossed  
behind his shaggy dun-colored head, staring at the pattern of cracks in  
the cement ceiling.  
Dull, dull, dull.  
A high-pitched whirring noise and a shower of blue sparks  
made things not dull anymore. Fang sat up and watched in startled  
amazement as a laser sheared a neat circular hole in the wall. The  
cutaway section was lifted out, and a figure stepped through.  
Fang actually expected his eyes to yo-yo out of his skull and  
his tongue to unfurl like a party favor. "Hel-lo, Nurse!" he bugled.  
The indigo-skinned she-gargoyle undulated toward him with a  
come-hither smile.  
"Oh, baby, oh, baby, do I get fries with that shake?"  
A second gargoyle, a redhaired male, came through the hole  
and swept Fang with a disdainful look. "What manner of creature is  
that?"  
"One of my mutates," the delectable piece told him, moving to  
examine the door to his cell.  
"We're only here for the gargoyles," the male said. "Leave  
him."  
"No. He's an idiot, but he could be useful."  
"Story of my life! Oh, hell, I can still work with it. Lemme  
outta here, sweetcakes, and I'm all yours."  
"Besides," the honey continued, "we could use a mutate to  
study."  
"Hey, wait a minute," Fang protested, not liking the sound of  
that.  
But the male gargoyle had nodded his agreement and extended  
his arm. An energy beam shot from a weapon strapped to his wrist, and  
began melting into the lock. "You'd best be right about this," he said.  
The female wiggled over to him. "Trust me," she breathed.  
He drew back as if burned.  
"What's the matter?" Her lips were made for pouting. "Don't  
you like this body?"  
"Save it for the clones," he snapped. "_I_ know who you really  
are!"  
The lock dripped off, and the door slid open. Fang emerged  
into freedom for the first time in more than two years. "So, who are  
you, then?"  
"Call me Godiva," the female said, shifting her shoulders in a  
way that made her jahoobies bounce tastily. "This is Jericho."  
"What did you mean about studying me?" he asked.  
"All in good time," she said, laying her hand on his arm. "All  
in good time! I'm not a revenge-minded person normally, but I have a  
score to settle with your leader, Talon."  
"Me too, toots, me too!"  
"First the gargoyles," Jericho reminded them. "I'd like to have  
them ready when my mother comes back."  
"Your -- jump back! Demona's your mom? Hey, she used to  
park her fanny right in that cell!"  
"I thought you weren't in favor of this plan," Godiva said.  
"Worried that you might lose your status as her favorite."  
"You assured me that the clones were far less than perfect.  
They are mere copies, and poor ones at that. I am her son, her own flesh  
and blood. I have nothing to fear from them. Besides, are they not the  
next thing to mindless?"  
"They were created as blank slates, yes. Thailog neither  
needed nor wanted them to have any more sophisticated mentalities  
than was necessary to function and obey. What little they might have  
picked up since then will be easy to remove, reprogram. Especially with  
my brother's genius at work. They'll be the clan your mother's always  
wanted, blindly loyal."  
"If the subliminals work."  
Godiva fixed him with a stare. "Which we'd know, if your  
mother hadn't been so standoffish about letting us test them on other  
gargoyles."  
"She and I are the only other gargoyles."  
"Which is why she's so stubborn and untrusting. Gustav told  
me of his many setbacks, all of which stemmed from having to use  
human test subjects when the physical, neurological, and biochemical  
differences between the species are so extreme. Remember the failure  
with Thailog? My brother foresaw that, but Demona would have none  
of it."  
"Um, 'scuse me," Fang said, because by now he was sure he'd  
heard Godiva's voice somewhere before. "But who are you people?"  
"She's not about to submit herself as a gerbil pig for you  
scientists," Jericho said haughtily. "Nor risk her only son."  
"Guinea pig," Godiva corrected. "Like I said, totally  
untrusting. But it doesn't matter. The chemical gas I devised is  
specifically made to affect the clones' genetic structure, and Gustav's  
subliminals have their lower emotional and intellectual development  
taken into account."  
"So you say."  
"Need I remind you, it was your idea that my brother and I  
combine our efforts!"  
"I was weary of listening to the two of you argue over whose  
was the better science! I'd have said anything to make you cease!"  
"You're right, though, that together we are stronger. The  
Brothers Sevarius, a Gestalt approach to total control. It was also your  
suggestion that we use this Godiva robot for delivering both chemicals  
and subliminals. Catching more flies, or gargoyles as the case may be,  
with honey rather than vinegar."  
"Hey! Hold on!" Fang yelled, waving his hands like the ref at a  
football game. "Would somebody please tell me what the hell is going  
on here?" Then the name hit him, and connections were made, and he  
gaped at Godiva. "Sevarius?"  
"Catches on quick, doesn't he?" And now her voice was  
nothing but pure Sevarius, arrogant and more than a touch slimy.  
Fang backed away. "I said it before and I'll say it again. You  
can keep your cure. I like me this way! I don't want no more  
injections!"  
"And now we're to be saddled with this oaf?" Jericho gave  
Fang such a threatening glare that the mutate felt the fur stand up all  
along his spine.  
"There never was a cure." Godiva/Sevarius rolled her eyes.  
"Undo my own work? Ludicrous!"  
Fang quit backing up, but still observed them warily. "So what  
do you want with me, then?"  
"We're recruiting. Unless you like sitting around your cell."  
"We can put you back," Jericho offered. Or underground, his  
expression added ominously.  
"Hey, no, I'm cool. It's cool. Let's boogie, hunh?" He rubbed  
his hands together briskly, sparks of static electricty leaping around  
them. "It's payback time!"   
  
* *   
  
"Stop, dogs, stop," Malibu read flatly, tracing his finger under  
the words. "The ... luh ... lih ... ligghit is red now."  
"Light," Talon said.  
Brentwood swung his flashlight so the beam went directly into  
Talon's eyes, making his catlike pupils instantly narrow to tiny slits.  
"Light!"  
Talon pushed it away, blinking. "No, no. The word is light.  
Turn that thing off, you're wasting the batteries."  
"He likes it," Delilah said. "You gave it to him."  
"Go, dogs, go," Malibu plodded onward. "The light is green  
now."  
"Okay, that's enough for today." Talon stood, stretching.  
"Good job, Malibu. Burbank, tomorrow it's your turn."  
"We watch tv now?" Hollywood asked eagerly. "Time for A-  
Team!"  
"Fine." Talon retrieved the remote from where he had to hide  
it during study hour. He gave it over to Hollywood and the clones  
flocked eagerly to the battered color console.  
Delilah moved to Talon's side as he left the spacious but  
somehow claustrophobic room that housed the male clones, part untidy  
dorm and part classroom. "They try, they want to learn."  
He sighed. "I know. And I want to help them. But I'm an ex-  
cop, a pilot, a bodyguard ... I'm no elementary school teacher. Tough to  
get someone with a teaching credential down here."  
"Their minds are not so good. Like mine, only the master gave  
even less to them. They only needed to know to obey. Long time getting  
over that."  
"I just wish Goliath and his clan would take more of an interest  
in them. They're gargoyles, damn it. What do I know about teaching  
them how to live like gargoyles?"  
"Not gargoyles," Delilah declared, softly yet firmly. "Shadows.  
Copies. Not real. Not true. Bodies like gargoyles, yes, but grown in  
tubes. Abominations. No wonder Goliath's clan doesn't want them. Like  
seeing themselves in warped mirror. Ugly. Nowhere to be, no future,  
no hope."  
"You don't feel that way, do you?"  
"Some." She looked down. "I am lucky. Longer time, more  
effort was put into making me. I am pretty. They like better what is  
pretty, what is not bad copy. Elisa likes me. And Angela. I do not fear  
them, they welcome me."  
"If they welcome you, why don't you live with them?"  
"You do not want me here?" she asked, distressed.  
"Don't think that for a minute!" he said. "You're practically my  
sister. Maggie and the twins adore you. I only thought you might like to  
live with other gargoyles."  
"I stay here. I belong here." Her face, so like Elisa's, suddenly  
lit up, and she ran ahead of him, to where a huge figure with a mane of  
long, curled hair was just coming around the corner.  
Talon smiled in an indulgent, brotherly way as Delilah dashed  
to Samson. He turned and caught her up at arm's length, lifting her as if  
she weighed next to nothing. She laughed delightedly and plunged her  
hands into his hair, rubbing her knuckles against his forehead.  
Samson, formerly Samuel Blake, and before _that_ Samuel  
Sevarius, stood even taller than Talon and was even stronger than  
Goliath, but for all of that he remained gentle and shy. A childhood  
spent in the grips of a terminal and painful disease had given him an  
uncommon inner tranquility. Unlike most of the others in the Labyrinth,  
Samson didn't spend his time in bitter anger over what he'd lost, or  
bitter yearning for what he could never have.  
We could all take lessons from him, Talon thought, watching  
him smile up at Delilah. Me included. Accept our new lives, make the  
most of them. That's what we should be doing. Delilah said she was  
lucky. I'm lucky too. I've got Maggie and the kids, Mom and Dad, Elisa,  
Beth ... yeah, I should have no complaints. I'm out of the rat race, no  
more income taxes, no more commuting or any of that stuff.  
Feeling pretty darn good about things after all, Talon whistled  
as he headed off in a different direction from the two young lovers.  
He made his usual rounds of his domain before starting for  
home, checking in on some of his human charges, the tired and poor  
and huddled masses to which even Lady Liberty turned a blind eye.  
Most of them lived in what Maggie had nicknamed the Court  
of Miracles. It was a cavernous tunnel that had once been part of a  
failed seawater purification plant. Now tents, shacks, and even one  
fairly decrepit subway car made up a colorful subterranean shanty town.  
A water main along the wall, with an outflow valve that  
provided a decent-sized reservoir, meant that many of the people here  
were cleaner than they had been when they lived aboveground. While  
food and luxuries weren't exactly plentiful, they took comfort in  
knowing that the city above was knee-deep in snow while they were  
snug and warm.  
Talon waved, and got many waves in return. The newer  
residents were still edgy, but to the rest, the monsters that protected  
them were much preferable to the human monsters that plagued them  
above.  
Some of them beckoned, but he was eager to see the twins  
before Maggie put them down for the night. Or, he mentally amended  
with a chuckle, until she tried. Dee and Tom had a new favorite  
pastime, which involved clambering to the top of the dresser and testing  
out their little wings. They had gotten good enough so that they landed  
on their feet after gliding short distances, but they always touched down  
with hefty thumps that sent parental hearts skittering.  
He could smell dinner now. Salmon casserole, one of his  
favorites. Funny, he'd never really cared for fish before his  
transformation ...  
"Hey, your-fuggin'-majesty!"  
Fang leaped out of a side passage and slugged him in the jaw.  
Electric-blue energy exploded from the point of impact. Talon flew  
backward and hit a pipe, cracking it. Steam hissed forth, further  
clouding his already blurred vision.  
"Fang!"  
"Jailbreak!" Fang chortled, and brought both arms down in an  
arc. His glowing fists slammed down on Talon's shoulders.  
"Yeeeaaarrrgh!" Talon cried as the electricty surged through  
him.  
The door to their personal quarters popped open, silhouetting  
Maggie against warm golden light. She screamed her mate's name and  
raced toward them.  
"Maggie, get back!" Talon flung himself to his feet and  
grappled with Fang. Past Fang's tufted ear, he could see Claw charging  
to his aid.  
A gargoyle sprang from the shadows and tackled Claw. For a  
crazy instant, Talon thought it was Goliath, and then he saw the blue  
skin and the red hair. The gargoyle's elbow, spur and all, drove into the  
juncture of Claw's wing and back.  
Even from here, even over Fang's snarls, swears, and threats,  
Talon heard something break. Claw's wing sagged like a sail when the  
wind fell. He went to his knees, then to all fours. The gargoyle braced  
his foot against the back of Claw's head and pistoned him face-first into  
the floor. Claw shuddered all over, and went limp.  
Talon and Fang shoved each other back and forth, both of  
them keeping the electric blasts in reserve because to let loose while  
hanging onto each other would be to share the effects. Talon resorted to  
dirty fighting and bit at Fang's neck while ramming a knee upward.  
Fang's leg blocked the knee, but Talon's teeth tore out a huge  
wad of fur. Fang head-butted him, hitting him square between the eyes.  
Talon reeled, almost passed out, but made himself hang on.  
The gargoyle stood over Claw's body, watching the tussle.  
Maggie ran at him, hands ablaze with cold blue fire, but he turned and  
almost idly flicked his wrist. A scarlet beam shot from his arm and  
Maggie went tumbling.  
"Leave her alone!" Talon roared, and with renewed strength  
plowed Fang into the wall.  
The Labyrinth had always been something of a fixer-upper,  
and he hadn't gotten around to all the repairs yet. So when Fang's  
weight collided forcefully with the wall, it gave way and a yawning hole  
opened up.  
Talon tried to tear free but Fang held fast, and they both went  
through the wall and into the old elevator shaft beyond.  
Their wings battered against the sides, the confines too close  
to fully spread and brake their descent. The top of the old elevator  
seemed to be shooting up toward them.  
CRUNCH!!   
  
* *   
  
Maggie screamed again as she saw her mate and Fang vanish  
down the shaft.  
The gargoyle whipped around, and his blazing white eyes  
fixed upon her. Claw lay motionless beneath him, his head haloed by a  
growing pool of blood.  
For a moment, they stared at each other, neither moving. And  
then they both moved at once, him lunging for her, her retreating into  
the living room and hurling the door closed.  
The gargoyle threw himself against the door. Maggie yelled,  
"No!" and braced herself against it, her hindclaws digging into the  
carpet.  
"Mama?"  
The children!  
Dee and Tom were wide-eyed in alarm, clinging to each other  
like Hansel and Gretel lost in the woods, watching their mother trying  
to hold the door against a ravening monster right out of a nightmare.  
"Go! Hide!" Maggie begged.  
The door clicked shut and she shot the bolt, then pressed her  
back against it, panting, terrified.  
A pale-blue hand punched through the wood and seized her  
honey-colored hair.  
Her disobedient twins ran to her side. Brave little Tom jumped  
high and sank his tiny fangs into the arm sticking through the door,  
while Dee pulled on her mother.  
The gargoyle swore in startled pain and released Maggie so  
suddenly that she went sprawling on her face. She swept the twins into  
her arms as the door shook in its frame. He hit it again and the bolt went  
flying. The door flew wide and he filled the doorway.  
Maggie scuttled backward, huddling against the sofa with her  
children held tight against her. Both twins were puffed up and hissing in  
fearful kittenish rage.  
The gargoyle advanced.   
  
* *   
  
Anton Sevarius paused and peered in. On the grainy screen,  
Howling Mad Murdock was about to hit B.A. over the head so they  
could load the gold-decked side of beef onto a plane.  
The clones were sitting in a semicircle around it. One of them,  
the beaky one, was poring over a Dr. Seuss book.  
He couldn't remember the names Demona had given them.  
Anaheim? Irvine? Studio City, for pete's sake? But then, he could only  
barely keep Goliath's clan straight. Once his part of the cloning was  
done, he hadn't been welcome (or deemed it particularly prudent) to  
linger.  
One, two, three, four. Only males. No sign of the female  
hybrid named Delilah. It looked like the other female, the ebony-  
skinned Angela clone, hadn't made it after all. Just as Thailog said.  
Four males. Not his best work, really, but he had been rushed  
and operating under rather primitive conditions. Xanatos might have  
been avaricious, but he was generous with his wealth when it came to  
investing in projects. Thailog, on the other hand, had been downright  
stingy when it came to equipment and supplies.  
But, he reminded himself, they said even God Himself had to  
start off with mud. And God Himself hadn't been paid for His work.  
He was especially pleased with the way he'd been able to tap  
into the recessive genes carried in the gargoyle DNA. Each specimen  
carried the chromosomes for a wide range of characteristics, whether or  
not these characteristics were reflected in the actual subject. Therefore,  
he'd been able to give the smaller webbed-wing one a spiked mace of a  
tail, plus other fun modifications.  
He only wished he'd had the time to experiment further, and  
that he'd been able to figure out the pigmentation problem. That made  
no sense whatsoever, and the preliminary findings had been enticingly  
challenging.  
Well, time enough for that later. First, he had to collect them,  
bring them back into the fold.  
He eased into the room and waited for a commercial. Godiva  
was built with enough internal electronics to stock a Radio Shack, so as  
soon as the A-Team was replaced with a certain rabbit who was hungry  
for a certain fruity cereal, Anton used a universal remote to switch off  
the set.  
The clones looked accusingly at each other, but before they  
could get to arguing, Anton activated Godiva's sound system. The erotic  
strains of bellydancing music captured their attention. They turned, and  
instantly fell spellbound.  
Next, Anton activated the dance program, and began to writhe  
sensually to the music.  
He was beginning to find, to his consternation, that it wasn't all  
that unpleasant being a sex object. At the very least, it had its uses. His  
escape from Xanatos Enterprises had been greatly facilitated by his new  
look, since the security guard seemed to regard him as more of a divine  
dream than anything else.  
The four clones were swaying slackjawed to the music.  
Godiva's belt of gold coins shimmied and clinked as the hips shook.  
Anton parted those pouty lips and exhaled a cloudy mist of chemical  
gas. As the clones breathed it in, their eyelids drooped and their  
breathing slowed.  
The melody changed subtly, now underlaid with subliminal  
messages. Gustav's spell began to work its magic.   
  
* *   
  
Jericho pulled apart the elevator doors.  
The car was stalled about halfway between floors, so that the  
bottom of it reached waist-high on him. The ceiling of the car was  
buckled in and split in places, and the ventilation grid was now laying  
on the floor, molded into the shape of a mutate shoulder and head.  
An arm was dangling through the hole where the grid had  
been. Dusty brown fur. Fang.  
Jericho set a foot into the elevator car, and the whole works  
made an alarming squealing noise. The car shifted and dropped about  
four inches. He hastily withdrew his foot.  
He doubled back to the staircase. This part of the Labyrinth  
was an old subway station, or so he believed. It had long since fallen  
into complete disrepair, and he could almost believe the stories Heck  
used to tell about enormous albino rats and alligators.  
On the floor above, he had a tougher time prying the doors  
open, but eventually they yeilded. He peered down the shaft, seeing the  
crumpled pair of unconscious mutates below him.  
He speculatively eyed the cable. It was old, weak, rotten. A  
simple slash would do it, and he'd be rid of both of them. But Sevarius  
seemed to want one for study, and cannon fodder was always handy.  
He stretched out flat and reached down, and hooked his fingers  
through Fang's belt. He tried an experimental heft.  
Fang was heavier than he looked. Unbalanced, Jericho felt  
himself sliding forward, and without thinking grabbed onto the cable  
with his free hand.  
Metal strands let go one after the other with a series of small  
twanging noises. The elevator sank a few more inches.  
Jericho wedged his knees in the opening and held tight to  
Fang's belt. No sooner had he gotten a secure hold than it all gave way.  
The severed end of the cable whipped past Jericho's head, nearly taking  
off his ear.  
The elevator plunged out of sight, still carrying Talon. A  
horrendous crash rolled up the shaft, followed by a choking billow of  
dust.  
Fang stirred, came to, and yelped as he saw the shaft beneath  
his swinging feet. He started to struggle.  
"Be still, or I'll drop you," Jericho snarled through gritted  
teeth, his arm aching from having all of Fang's weight dangling at the  
end of it. "Stupid creature, more trouble than you're worth."  
"Yeah, sure, whatever you say. Just get me outta here, okay,  
buddy?"  
  
* *   
  
Anton Sevarius sashayed along like Bo Peep from hell, with  
his little lambs trotting behind him.  
Power and control. Almost as delicious as the godlike act of  
creation itself.  
He looked out over a vast tunnel, full of hovels and camp  
stoves and lines of drying laundry. Talon's kingdom, a Sodom of the  
genetically inferior. Diseases, poverty, alcoholism, mental illness. The  
dregs of society.  
He had once tried to help them with a truly marvellous drug  
that worked on humanity's rampant discontent. It removed all envy,  
leaving the subjects satisfied with whatever their station in life  
happened to be. But he'd been forced to destroy it by those who feared  
it would be used for the wrong purpose, removing the drive to strive  
from the true thinkers of the world. Which was a ridiculous supposition,  
but his arguments that it could be administered only to the dull-minded  
masses fell on deaf ears.  
He'd always made an effort to collect his subjects from the  
population of the hopeless, because his science could elevate them, give  
them purpose. The mutates, with the exception of Talon, had been taken  
from the street, a gang, a mental hospital. A good deed, and Anton  
could never understand why so many people failed to see it in just that  
way.  
The sight of so many living in such misery filled him with grief  
and outraged despair. Their existence was empty, pointless. They lived  
in the shadow of dreams they could never acheive, tormented by  
luxuries they saw on television or in magazines.  
It was cruel to force them to live out such desolate lives.  
Everyone had to have some purpose. If not in life, then at least in death.  
He wondered how the godlike act of destruction ranked,  
compared to creation and control.  
Test time.  
He beckoned to the clones, his new angels of the apocalypse.  
"Kill them."   
  
* *   
  
"What's that?" Fang asked, stopping in his tracks.  
"The screams of the dying," Jericho replied, pushing past him  
and breaking into a ground-covering lope on all fours.  
A panicked, grubby human was approaching at top speed.  
Jericho flicked his metal-sheathed tail as he passed, and the man's chest  
was laid open to the ribs. The human ran another four or five paces  
before he realized his inner workings were exposed to the air, and fell  
shrieking.  
Fang swore and jumped over him, trying to keep up.  
Now a stampede of humans was fleeing the cavernous tunnel.  
They fell, they trampled each other, they struck blindly at one another  
in their frenzy.  
Jericho sprang onto a ledge. Fang wasn't so quick, managing to  
leap but missing his hold. He fell back into the throng and was carried  
along for several yards like a rocker who had thrown himself to his  
fans, before being engulfed in the sea of humanity.  
Gargoyle shapes swooped and dove in the spacious tunnel.  
Dead and wounded humans littered the floor. Shacks were broken apart  
or in flames. And above it all, Sevarius stood on a ledge, urging the  
clones on.  
"Arrogant fool!" Jericho yelled.  
"Testing our soldiers," he called back. "Cleansing the earth!  
When we cannot be benevolent, we must be wrathful!"  
"He's gone mad," Jericho muttered to himself.  
As he was about to yell again, he saw men emerging from their  
tents and shabby dwellings with weapons. Not just clubs and knives, but  
firearms. Including a submachine gun, whose rough stitching peppered  
the air.  
One of the gargoyles, the bearded one, was blown against the  
curved ceiling by a hail of bullets. He stuck for a moment then peeled  
off, leaving an inkblot of a bloodstain.  
Jericho caught him just before he smashed to the floor. The  
sight of the felling of one of their attackers turned some of the humans'  
fear to fury. More of them seized up weapons.  
He took down three humans with his wrist laser, but there were  
too many against only five gargoyles, and these poor imitations were  
even less skilled as warriors than his siblings on Avalon had been.  
He scanned the room, seeking escape, and found instead the  
water main extending along one wall. Supporting the wounded gargoyle  
with one arm, he leveled his laser at the thick pipe.  
A section first glowed, then bubbled, then burst. A geyser  
spouted forth, the water pressure snapping off the edges of the hole,  
growing into a churning tidal wave that overwhelmed the nearest  
humans, sending them spinning like dolls.  
Jericho nodded, grimly pleased, and then the entire pipe  
exploded.  
  
* *   
  
"By water's already been done!" Anton Sevarius called  
aggravatedly, but Jericho couldn't hear him above the thundrous torrent.  
He spread Godiva's wings and prepared to go repeat his  
message face to face. The robot had not been made specifically with  
flight in mind, but did have a modest jetpack built in, which was in fact  
the only modest thing about her.  
Just as Anton lifted off and soared sexily into the cavern, the  
entire pipe exploded. The walls began to crumble under the terrible  
pressure of water surging against them. Tiles rained from the curved  
ceiling.  
The clones wheeled in confusion. Jericho, closer to them and  
holding onto an injured one, shouted something and they veered toward  
him.  
Anton glowered. _He_ was their Lorelei, their siren, their  
temptress and seducer-goddess. He was their creator. Their loyalty  
should be his, not Jericho's, not Demona's. He arrowed toward them,  
meaning to remind them of that particular fact.  
"Get hence!" Jericho yelled. "This way!"  
The tunnel was caving in, undone by the flood. A subway car  
bobbed along like a child's plastic toy on the raging froth. Jericho was  
leading the clones toward one of the upper passages which overlooked  
the tunnel.  
"There's no exit that way!" Anton announced, but they ignored  
him.  
The way was blocked by metal bars, but Jericho's wrist laser  
made short work of them. He urged the clones through, bundling the  
wounded one into their arms.  
All around them was shaking now, as if in the grip of an  
earthquake. Even the smaller passage, down which the clones were  
fleeing, was beginning to crack apart. Some sort of thick, gritty goo  
oozed from the roof.  
Sevarius joined Jericho. "How dare you --"  
"Come on, or stay here and die!" With that, the gargoyle  
followed the clones.  
"This isn't finished!" He started after them, but when he heard  
the grandaddy of all crashes behind him, he had to take one last look.  
The tunnel had completely collapsed, making a two-block long  
sinkhole in the city streets above. Huge slabs of pavement and snow-  
laden sidewalks plunged into the turbulent mess, carrying cars and  
pedestrians with them. A traffic signal stuttered through its green-  
amber-red before its cable was severed and it vanished beneath the  
waves.  
It finally occured to Anton that he might be in real danger  
here. But the devastation held an incredible fascination, so he was  
helpless to look away.  
When he heard the ceiling over him give way, he finally turned  
to flee.  
Too late.   
  
* *   
  
"I still don't see how she could have gotten away," Brooklyn  
said, gliding close to Lex. "How come the surveillance tapes don't show  
anything?"  
"According to her blueprints, she had internal remotes that  
would let her temporarily deactivate the cameras and other recording  
devices," Lex explained.  
"Jeez, what was Xanatos planning to do with her?" Brooklyn  
wondered. "I thought he only built her for the bachelor party!"  
"Wouldn't a security guard have to have seen her?" Angela  
asked.  
"They're all denying it, but I bet Xanatos will figure it out. All  
his employees have signed oaths agreeing to submit to polygraphs and  
truth serums if needed."  
"Lovely." Angela peered down at the device Lex held. "Are  
you sure this thing will find her?"  
"Should. It's homing in on something, anyway."  
"Sloppy," Brooklyn said. "Xanatos needs to keep better track  
of his toys. Did you hear what he said, he doesn't even know how long  
she's been gone? And I don't like the way he looked when he said he  
didn't have any idea how it could have happened. Malfunction, my tail!  
He knows something that he's not telling."  
"Hey, we're getting a good strong signal now!" Lex frowned.  
"It's coming from the Labyrinth!"  
"The Labyrinth?" his companions echoed.  
They banked around a skyscraper, heading for one of the  
Labyrinth's many entrances, and all three of them sucked in startled  
breaths at what was laid out before them.  
The sinkhole looked like a volcanic crater, bubbling and  
pluming with steam. People ran frantically along the edges, trying to  
reach those trapped on tilted chunks of sidewalk. Storefronts were about  
to topple. Buildings had taken on a pronounced lean, like that Italian  
tower.  
For blocks in all directions, power was out and the looting was  
already beginning. Car alarms shrieked endlessly. Headlights, and  
flashers from the sole police car at the scene, provided the only  
illumination.  
"Son of a bitch!" Brooklyn marvelled. "What happened?"  
"Look!" Angela pointed. "I think I see Talon!"  
Winged shapes were headed toward them. Angela swooped  
anxiously to meet them, with Brooklyn and Lex close behind.  
"Those aren't the mutates!" Lex cried, and then the clones were  
upon them.  
They braced for combat, but the clones only shot past with  
token strikes of fist and tail. The only one that connected was the anti-  
Brooklyn, who got in a lucky blow that sent Angela careening into the  
jungle of clotheslines between two buildings.  
The lines tore loose but her wings were entangled, and her best  
effort to free herself only sent her falling straight toward the sinkhole.  
"Angela!" Brooklyn, who had gone in pursuit of his double  
with violence on his mind, turned back and dove after her.  
There was no way he could reach her in time. She struggled,  
struck her head on a ledge, and plummeted limply toward the roiling  
waters.  
"No!" Brooklyn nearly rivaled Goliath in his roar.  
A gargoyle came up under Angela and caught her. For a crazy  
moment, Brooklyn thought it was Thailog, but as they flashed through  
the fan of headlights, he realized who it was.  
"Jericho!"  
Demona's son landed on a rooftop with his sister gently  
cradled in his arms. Brooklyn caught an updraft and landed nearby, and  
the two males sized each other up.  
"You must be Brooklyn."  
"Let her go!"  
A puzzled look crossed Jericho's face. "I would not harm her.  
She is my sister, in blood as well as rookery, and is precious to my  
mother. And to me." He stroked Angela's hair with a possessive  
tenderness that Brooklyn didn't like one little bit.  
"She's not going with you. She stays with us!"  
"Nor would I abduct her," he said, as if Brooklyn were an idiot  
for even suggesting such a thing. "In time, she'll come to us of her own  
free will."  
"No." He stepped forward, meaning to do or die for the lady  
fair.  
"There's no need for that." Jericho simply handed her over to  
him.  
"She wants to talk to you. So does Goliath."  
"I have nothing to say to Goliath at the moment. When I do,  
he'll hear from me, rest assured."  
Brooklyn moved back, just in case Jericho had only given him  
Angela in order to occupy his arms so he couldn't block a punch.  
"Listen to me. Demona -- she's evil. She's just using you!"  
Jericho's eyes went briefly afire. "Watch it, sirrah!"  
"I'm trying to help you, dammit!"  
"Perhaps it's you that needs the help. Goliath has turned you  
weak. You waste your time protecting the humans. I can see how it goes  
against your instincts. When a gargoyle was in danger, you put the  
humans from your mind to help her. That is how it should be. We  
should stand together against them, make our kind great and strong  
again."  
"I'd put other gargoyles from my mind to save Angela," he  
retorted.  
Jericho's brow ridges went up. "Are you her mate, then?" he  
asked disbelievingly.  
"Well ..." he hemmed and hawed like he always did when  
someone brought it up.  
"Good," Jericho said, reading the answer in his pause. "You're  
not worthy of her."  
That stung. Brooklyn bristled. "I'll show you who's worthy!"  
"Save it. I'm sure we'll meet again." With that, he leisurely  
spread his majestic wings and headed for the distant circling specks that  
were the clones.  
"I'll be looking forward to it," Brooklyn grumbled.  
Lex landed next to him. "Wasn't that --?"  
"You know what, Lex? I only just met him, but I really hate  
that guy." Brooklyn shook his head, exhaling in frustration. "I got over  
hating Demona, all because Angela wanted me to, and now her brother  
turns out to be a real creep. Reminds me of Coldsteel."  
"Forget him! There's people in trouble, and they need us!"  
"Right." Brooklyn patted Angela's cheek.  
She moaned and opened her eyes. "What happened?"  
"Explain later. Come on, we've got work to do!"   
  
* *   
  
Some people did the old screaming and running thing as the  
gargoyles descended, but Lex noticed that many of them were quicker  
than usual to realize they were only trying to help.  
He threw all his weight against the raised rear bumper of a  
precariously tilted Cadillac to keep it from going in nose-first. An  
elderly couple struggled out.  
As the pavement continued to give way, the Caddy tipped  
further.  
The silver-haired gent glanced at Lex and said with remarkable  
calm, "Go ahead and let it go, sonny, we're insured."  
He did so, and the expensive car plunged fifty feet into the  
churning water. He had a brief glimse of Brooklyn, who had evidently  
saved a babe wearing a long coat, fishnets, and very little else, and she  
was determined to reward him with a smothering kiss. Angela was  
occupied with a woman who kept shrieking a man's name and trying to  
throw herself into the sinkhole.  
Contrary to popular belief, these New Yorkers didn't look the  
other way or walk away from the trouble. Lex found himself working  
side by side with humans, young and old, black and white, poor and  
rich, everybody pitching in. Rescue workers arrived, and although the  
television reporters were hot on their heels, slowly things began to  
come under control.  
On the far side of the sinkhole, a manhole cover popped high  
in the air and came down with a clang.  
"Over there!" someone called.  
Lex looked where he was pointing, and saw a waterlogged  
Maggie emerging from the sewer, little Tom clinging to her fur.  
Delilah, holding Dee, clambered up behind her. All of them were  
soaked, sputtering.  
The nearest people stared, but then one stepped forward and  
caught Tom just as Maggie collapsed. That got the rest of them moving,  
picking up Maggie, supporting Delilah, comforting the twins, as if they  
weren't winged monsters at all.  
Lex, Angela, and Brooklyn glided swiftly across, then hung  
back for a moment, amazed.  
"I never thought I'd see the day," Angela said softly. "Humans,  
helping us!"  
"Come on." Lex hurried to Delilah, who was leaning against  
the elderly man from the Caddy and coughing out brackish water. A  
reporter and cameraman beat Lex to them, but he got in the first word.  
"Delilah! What happened? Where's Talon?"  
She looked blankly at him, then her eyes cleared a bit.  
"Samson, I, hear fight, hear crash, go see. Claw is dead? Samson find  
hole, where lifter fall, Talon too. He goes down look Talon, I look  
Maggie. Find locked in closet with babies. Water comes. Claw, we try  
to bring, too heavy!" She started to weep. "Left him, left Talon, left  
Samson!"  
The man holding her gave her an understanding squeeze. "You  
had to save yourselves and the children. You did what you had to do."  
"A fight?" Brooklyn said, exchanging a meaningful glance  
with Lex. "Who?"  
Delilah shook her head, her drenched white hair hanging  
dispiritedly in her face. "No know."  
"We'll go look for them," Angela promised. "Right now."  
"It's not safe down there!" someone protested.  
"By now," the elderly man said, "everything that is going to  
fall in has fallen in. Still, you three be careful. We can't afford to lose  
more lives."  
"How does Godiva fit into all this?" Brooklyn asked Lex as  
they followed Angela to the sinkhole, out of earshot of the humans.  
"Could she have been a bomb?"  
"I don't think the homing transmitter would have survived,"  
Lex said, consulting his tracking device. "This says she's right under  
us!"  
"Yeah, but how far under?"  
They peered into the depths. The water had stopped rising,  
stopped roiling, but its surface was clotted with debris and bodies. None  
of the bodies had fur or wings, but even so, Lex didn't hold out much  
hope. If Talon hadn't turned up by now, it probably meant the worst.  
"Let's go have a look." Lex glided down.  
He found Godiva right away. A side tunnel, about six feet  
above flood level, was caked with silt and mud and some sort of gritty  
substance. A few paces down that tunnel was a tall blob, shaped  
roughly like a gargoyle. From the knees down, it was mud and sludge,  
and the rest of it was encased in the gritty whitish stuff.  
Lex looked up, to the ragged hole in the ceiling and the broken  
drum above. He pinched off a bit of the grit, sniffed it, and touched it to  
the tip of his tongue. "Salt."  
"Say what?" Brooklyn asked.  
"Salt. This was part of the old purification plant, trying to get  
pure water from seawater. The salt and crud leftover must have been  
stored up there."  
Angela touched what seemed to be an outstretched arm. "And  
that's Godiva? This pillar of salt?"  
"The signal says so, and it's sure not shaped like Talon!"  
An echoing boom shuddered the passage. Before they could  
even wonder to each other what it had been, a second sounded. A big  
fist came through the wall, shedding tile and concrete dust.  
"What the --?" Brooklyn started, then jumped forward and  
began pulling at the edges of the hole, widening it.  
A large head, with a drowned mess of long curled hair, poked  
through. Weary green-gold eyes met theirs.  
"Samson!" Angela said.  
He pushed fully into the narrow passage, and that was when  
they saw what he carried. Talon and Claw were slung over his massive  
shoulders, both motionless, battered, and dark with blood.   
  
* *   
  
"Goliath! Come here, lad!" Hudson bellowed urgently.  
Certain that they were under attack, Goliath charged into the  
suite with muscles tensed for action. Instead of invaders, he found  
Hudson leaning so close to the television that his nose almost touched  
the screen.  
A box in the top corner heralded it to be a live broadcast. The  
camera panned swiftly over a scene of unbelievable destruction, then  
zoomed in on a gargoyle.  
"That be Delilah!" Hudson cried.  
She was leaning on a silver-haired gent who managed to look  
distinguished despite being as bedraggled as the rest of the crowd.  
"And Lexington!" Goliath leaned equally close, so that he and  
Hudson were squashed together side to side.  
Haltingly, having lost much of her hard-won language skills  
due to shock, she replied to Lex's question of what had happened.  
Behind them, the could see humans draping Maggie in blankets,  
humans cradling the twins.  
They watched in shocked silence as the camera swung to  
follow Lex, Angela, and Brooklyn diving into the gigantic hole.  
Xanatos came bursting in. "Have you seen -- oh, good!"  
"What the devil be going on?"  
"That's what I'd like to know!" He tapped the screen, where the  
reporter was trying to interview the silver-haired man, who was in turn  
trying to console a sobbing Delilah. "That's William Harmond, former  
Senator, now with the Defense Department!"  
"What be he doing with Delilah?"  
"Damned if I know, but it's going to be great for your PR."  
Harmond gave enough of his attention to the reporter to  
explain how he and his wife had been saved from certain death by one  
of the gargoyles. "And that was only the first act of selfless heroism I've  
seen here tonight. Even now, those brave young people --"  
"People?" the reporter butted in incredulously.  
"Yes, I said people and I mean _people_," Harmond snapped  
icily. "Who are risking life and limb to search for more survivors."  
The phone rang, and Goliath seized it up without taking his  
eyes from the set. "Hello? Elisa! Yes, we're watching it now. No ... but  
I'm sure ... yes. I'll be there. How close are you?"  
"Look there!" Hudson called.  
The camera was trained on the edge of the sinkhole as the  
gargoyles appeared, struggling to bear aloft the limp bodies of two  
mutates. Humans dashed forth to help them as they landed.  
"They've found him!" Goliath said into the phone, as proud  
and triumphant as if he'd been there himself. "Elisa, do you hear?  
They've found him!"  
One last figure climbed from the wreckage. The crowd drew  
back at the sight of Samson, who was clearly not a gargoyle. But when  
Delilah flung herself at him with a glad cry, and he embraced her as if  
he would never let her go, a cheer rose from every throat.  
The photograph made the cover of Time.   
  
* *   
  
"What a mess," Owen said, shaking grit from his industrial-  
strength rubber gloves.  
Xanatos scrubbed his forearm across his brow, leaving a  
smudge. "I know."  
"It's going to take forever to get her cleaned up."  
"I know."  
"And we may never be able to bring her back online. Still, I  
suppose we're lucky to have retrieved her at all."  
"All part of being an upstanding member of the community.  
When Harmond donated thirty million to the cleanup effort, I could do  
no less. Plus, it gave me the chance to send in my own team. How long  
do you think I'm going to be able to keep ducking Brooklyn's  
questions?"  
Owen considered. "Not long, I'd say."  
"You're probably right. I suppose we'd better come up with a  
story."  
"Why not the truth, sir?"  
Xanatos looked at him. "Owen, I can't believe you said that!"  
"We may have lost Sevarius forever," Owen pointed out.  
"What difference does it make?"  
"Well," Xanatos grinned, "I did make a backup!"   
  
* *   
  
"How is he?" Elisa asked.  
"No change, I'm afraid," the doctor replied. "We've got the  
best neurologists in the country working on him, but with cases like  
this, there really isn't much more we can do."  
Maggie buried her face in her hands, and Talon put his good  
arm around her. The other one was broken in three places and had metal  
pins in the elbow. He was still swathed with bandages, balanced on a  
crutch, had six sprung ribs, and had given the doctors the interesting  
challenge of trying to stitch up a ten-inch tear in his wing.  
Claw had only two wounds. His left wing was badly broken  
but would mend. His head, though ... he'd been driven face-first into  
concrete, fracturing his skull into a jigsaw puzzle that had taken  
eighteen hours of surgery to put back together. Most of his scalp had  
been torn loose, so a ring of stitches now ran across the back of his  
head.  
Both of his corneas had become detatched, and while they'd  
been carefully replaced, there was some doubt if he'd ever see well  
through it again. But, as long as he was in a coma so deep that they  
could only pick up the faintest of brainwaves, there was little point  
worrying about his vision.  
"We're giving him the best care that we can," the doctor  
assured them. "We'll alert you the moment we know more." He  
scrutinized Talon. "You should be in bed. You need your rest."  
Talon agreed, which tipped Elisa off to just how much pain he  
was in. As a kid, Derrek Maza had always hated being bedridden, and  
drove their mom purely crazy whenever he was sick. The time he'd  
fallen out of a tree and broken his leg, Diane had finally threatened to  
tie him down. That he was so willing to return uncomplaining to his  
specially-modified hospital bed was a bad sign.  
She followed as Maggie took him back to his room and got  
him settled. He closed his eyes almost at once, and was soon making a  
sound somewhere between a snore and a purr.  
"Oh, Elisa, what are we going to do?" Maggie asked in a soft,  
despairing voice. "Poor Claw!"  
"He'll be all right," Elisa said, though it was an empty comfort.  
"Have you talked about coming to live at the castle?"  
She nodded. "We did, but I don't think either of us would feel  
right. We like the gargoyles, really we do, and even Xanatos is sort of  
okay, but I don't think we could live there. Your parents want us to  
move in with them, but they don't have the room for all of us, and  
there's the neighbors and everything. Even though the kids would love  
it."  
Talon stirred and opened one eye. In a thick, drugged voice, he  
mumbled something.  
"Yes, dear," Maggie said, and he subsided into sleep again.  
"What was that?"  
"He says we're going to rebuild the Labyrinth, that it's our  
home and he's not giving it up."  
"Do you want that?"  
"It's the first real home I've ever had. Sure, it has some bad  
memories, and this is the worst, but it has good memories too. Samson  
and Delilah have already gone back to start trying to make it our home  
again. There are people who need us. It's our ... what's the word?  
Protectorate."  
"I'll help however I can," Elisa promised. "So will Goliath and  
the clan. Maggie, I have to ask you something. I didn't want to before,  
when you were so upset and worried; heck, we all were! But now I have  
to." She sighed heavily. "Derrek says Fang attacked him, and a gargoyle  
he didn't recognize was the one that hurt Claw. Did you get a good look  
at that gargoyle?"  
"Yes. He chased me into our rooms, and I was sure he was  
going to kill us. But he just stood there, looking down at us. At first, he  
seemed angry, and then he said, 'no' to himself, really quiet, and  
something about mothers and children. Then he told me that he wasn't  
going to hurt us, but he couldn't have us interfering, so he locked us in  
the closet. That was where Delilah found us, and by then we were  
already ankle-deep in water. If she hadn't been able to break the lock,  
we would have drowned in there."  
"What did he look like?"  
"A lot like Goliath," Maggie said. "Except his skin was blue,  
and his hair was red. Why? Do you know who he is?"  
"Yeah," Elisa said unhappily. "Yeah, 'fraid I do."   
  
* *   
  
Demona glanced toward the security systems control panel. A  
green light was flashing. Someone had just punched in the access code,  
and since only one other person had that code, she smiled warmly as the  
front door opened.  
"You found the house! What do you think?"  
Jericho, her son, her pride and joy, stepped into the foyer and  
looked around appreciatively. "It's almost a castle!"  
"I owe it all to you. If not for the gold that you brought with  
you from Avalon, I never would have been able to afford it."  
"You owe me nothing!" He came to her and clasped her hands  
earnestly. "I owe you everything! What is the loss of a few metal  
trinkets compared to all you've given me?"  
She brushed her knuckles against his brow ridges. "Well, I  
want you to know that I've made you a partner in Nightstone Unlimited.  
Jerry Destine is now a vice president. Together, we'll recover from what  
Thailog did. Once we've taken care of him, I'm sure the money he's  
amassed will more than make up for the damages."  
"How did it go with the sorceress? Did you recruit her?"  
She made a sour face and rubbed just below her halter, under  
the fullness of her breasts. A small darker-blue scar marred her smooth  
skin. "I'd rather not discuss it."  
He fell to his knees and reached toward the scar, not quite  
touching it. "You're hurt! But I thought you couldn't be, that every  
wound mended!"  
She ran her fingers slowly through his hair. "I'm all right. It  
just took longer than usual to get over that injury. And look what I have  
to show for it!" She gestured to a shimmering twist of horn that hung  
over the mantle. It was shaded red, white, and black.  
"A unicorn's horn! But no virgin sorceress?"  
"Don't ask." Demona glowered ferociously. "It wasn't even  
Goliath that interfered, just a runt and a butterball and of all things a  
human brat with dyed hair!"  
"I have a surprise that might cheer you," he said with a roguish  
grin. "Come and see! No, first cover your eyes!"  
"Jericho, what is all this?" she laughed as he put his hands over  
her face and steered her toward the door. She felt the cool night wind  
coming in off the lake, heard a shifting and rustling sound.  
"Behold!" He grandly swept his hands away from her eyes.  
"Oh!" Demona went down the porch steps, into the midst of  
the gargoyles gathered there. "Can it be?"  
"It's your clan," Jericho said proudly. "I won them back for  
you."  
"Brentwood, Hollywood, Burbank, Malibu!" she cried, turning  
to each. They all looked on her with rapt adoration. "Jericho, how?"  
"Sevarius helped," he admitted, coming to join her. "They're  
yours now. Your clan. This time, no Thailog to turn them against you."  
She rested her palms along the sides of Jericho's strong jaw.  
"_Our_ clan," she corrected. "You'll be my second-in-command, and  
they will be our clan!"  
He trailed his fingers along her arm to the spur of her elbow.  
"Ours," he breathed.  
"A clan, a company, and someday the world," she promised.   
  
* *   
  
The End. 


End file.
